


Presents We're Never His Strong Suit.

by SherlocksHolmie



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-21
Updated: 2015-08-21
Packaged: 2018-04-16 11:17:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4623318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SherlocksHolmie/pseuds/SherlocksHolmie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There wasn't a time in John Watson's life where he hadn't struggled buying gifts and by the time he'd spent his first Christmas residing in 221b with Sherlock Holmes, well, he had entirely given up hope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Presents We're Never His Strong Suit.

There wasn't a time in John Watson's life where he hadn't struggled buying gifts. It's wasn't for his lack of trying, because he spent hours wandering through shops and marketplaces alike. It also wasn't due to a lack of funding as in his younger days he'd been able to afford luxuries and jewels for ex-girlfriends or his mother, just unfortunately not the ones they would've preferred. Hence the ex-girlfriends. He just never seem to pull it out of the bag like he had hoped and by the time he'd spent his first Christmas residing in 221b with Sherlock Holmes, well, he had entirely given up hope.

Sherlock Holmes was a man who couldn't be surprised. You couldn't hide around the corner in the flat and remain undetected because "John, your cologne gave you away" and you couldn't hide the good biscuits away because Sherlock's would sniff them out like a drug detecting pup employed at New Scotland Yard. Regardless, John tried to gift Sherlock a new bow for his violin to celebrate their first Christmas together. He'd spent weeks trying to worm his way into Mycroft's schedule whilst avoiding detection from Sherlock. The week before Christmas, Mycroft finally offered his help and sent for the bow for John's sake and promised John a text with details of when it would be arriving. The espionage continued two days later, Sherlock left the flat like a human whirlwind of coat and scarf shouting over his shoulder about pig's blood, John thought best to leave it alone. It was Christmas after all. Not a minute later his phone buzzed within the confines of his trousers.

Mycroft.

It took twenty minutes to hide the bow. Ten to stand in the front room of 221b and stare into the flat, mulling over his options. Then ten more to pull out every cleaning product they kept under the sink, situate the neatly wrapped bow at the back and then replace said cleaning products. John put the kettle on and brewed a fresh mug of tea as his reward. He'd thought he'd earned it. So he stood in the kitchen, smug and sipping away.

\---

Christmas day rolled around and the boys had enjoyed a lie in, even Sherlock and so the two worked in the kitchen cooking a late breakfast trying to factor in the feast Mrs. Hudson is bound to have prepared. Speak of the devil. Before their behind's touched the dining chairs their Landlady appeared. Gushing with Christmas cheer she flitted around the kitchen, completing the washing up, cleaning the sides and once housekeeping duties were fulfilled she was due to baste the turkey one more. With a pat on the shoulder for both her boys she went to depart with only one request, "Sherlock, be a dear and bring your violin down. I'd love to hear a tune while my stomach settles."

"Of course. I had planned on using my new bow today anyway." With a satisfied hum, Mrs Hudson disappeared down the staircase. However, John had let out a dissatisfied grunt, slumping back into his chair and admitting defeat. Apparently, microwaving pigs blood had caused quite the explosion and called to be cleaned before John laid eyes on the sticky mess, in his efforts to avoid John's wrath, Sherlock had discovered the bow, leaving John Watson thwarted once again.

\---

In the following years many events took place meaning Sherlock was gone for two years. During the separation the two men realised if they had a second chance they would rewrite their story. Sherlock destroyed a criminal network and after the almost-impossible feat returned home in hopes of tracking down John Watson and picking up where they had left off. John hadn't known what was coming for him, but when the gift he had hopelessly begged God to bring back to him every minute of every day appeared before him, he threw a punch that rivalled Muhammed Ali.

In the blink of an eye, their lives reverted back to normal. Or as normal as could be given the circumstances and within six months their previously platonic relationship took a turn that they had both craved in their years alone. Their sharing of a bedroom had provided an endless source of amusement for Mycroft in the autumn months and surprisingly the novelty had not worn off before winter crept in. Mycroft informed Mr and Mrs Holmes as a wicked power play against his brother, the expected pestering lasted for only an afternoon tea between Sherlock's parents and the now boyfriends. Sherlock and John left the café face spread in a victorious grin after avoiding what was certain death by questioning, they'd called a cab to put Mr and Mrs Holmes in and they tripped on the last hurdle. "You boys must come home for Christmas, oh how lovely would that be?" Gritting his teeth Sherlock agreed and slammed the cab door shut while John let out a content sigh. "I like your mum". Sherlock rolled his eyes with enough force to send the earth off-kilter.

\---

Christmas day at the Holmes' family cottage was an all together pleasant affair discounting the snide remarks between the Holmes boys. Mycroft departed around six with excuses of non-specific government business where as John and Sherlock were to remain in the guest bedroom for the night. Neither minded, the weather was miserable and there were no cases which had caught Sherlock's eye meaning they found themselves sat on the floor leaning against the armchair Mycroft had been favouring to spite Sherlock earlier on in the day, wiggling their toes in front of the roaring hearth. With a gingham blanket wrapped around two pairs of shoulders, and hands clutching at still hot cups of tea Sherlock was comfortable enough to place his head on John's shoulder and relaxed enough to smile lovingly and openly as John pressed his lips to his dark curls despite his parents being in the same room.

John noticed. Of course John had noticed that the lax man leaning into him was usually stiff as a board in the presence of others and so an occurrence such as this was rare and therefore was to be cherished. Glancing around the room he immediately noticed Mother Holmes had eyes that looked extremely wet, regardless of the smoke from the fire. Once he was sure Sherlock had dropped off to sleep he looked around once more and motioned for Mrs Holmes to join him in the kitchen as he collected the used mugs and headed to the next room.

"Mrs Holmes, I just wanted to say that I love your son very much. So much that I'm even willing to put up with the other," after sharing a chuckle John continued, "I've lost him once and I never intend on letting that happen again. I just needed you to know that this time around, I'll take better care of him. I know what I have now, I failed to understand what was right in front of me before and so I failed to protect him when it mattered most. I wouldn't blame you if after everything you hated me but if Sherlock gets his big heart from his mum then I think I should be in luck when I say, I can only hope you'll forgive me..."

There were arms around him and for the first time since his mother's death did John feel at home with family again. The embrace went on for some time, John grasping onto the first maternal figure he had since he could remember and said maternal figure sniffling over his shoulder. 

"Oh John, sweetheart we never blamed you for what happened. Ah ah, ah, close your mouth, no. I don't want to hear it young man. We both know my boys have an affinity for dramatics. I'm sure nothing you could've done or said would have deterred them from their paths. After all, Sherlock did it for you dear. To see you both here tonight, I realised it didn't matter how you had gotten here. Just that you both had. That's why you must forgive the old lady tears. It's a mummy thing. So not another word about it!" With two watery smiles, that John would never admit happened, they aimed to move on to a much lighter topic. It was Christmas after all.

"So, where do you keep the beanpole's baby pictures Mrs Holmes?"

It was surprising that Sherlock hadn't always been a beanpole. Truth be told he was a stout baby, very short in length but outweighing Mycroft by a whole 7 ounces. John couldn't believe his eyes as he flipped through the album before him the first few pages filled with chubby cheeks and fingers. Then out of nowhere, he recognized the cheekbones. Mrs Holmes said he'd had a growth spurt at the age of three and they had to throw away ever piece of clothing he had. It was like being handed a new child practically overnight.

If the curls hadn't been indication enough, his eyes would have sufficed to provide evidence the chubster in the album was the super sleuth in the next room, after the growing almost overnight incident turned him there was no question as to who the child was. The little boy in the photo had a smile to rival the Cheshire cat in every single photograph. Whether he was covered head-to-toe in mud with a wellington boot missing or if he was on Mycroft's shoulders in the garden, a smile was plastered onto his face.

On the next page of photographs, a puppy appeared, an red Irish Setter asleep in the arms of five year old Sherlock Holmes who had the ever-present toothy grin across his face. "Isn't he gorgeous? what was his name?" John couldn't help but absentmindedly smile back at the Child in the photo, carefully running his finger over the photo.

"That was Redbeard. Sherlock named him. He always did fancy himself as a pirate."

That raised an eyebrow. "A pirate? huh. Suddenly I feel he may never win an argument over the washing up ever again." The pair giggled along as they sifted through the following pages of the album. It was fit to burst with captured memories of Sherlock and Redbeard gallivanting around the English countryside. Nodding along and laughing at Mrs Holmes anecdotes unfortunately didn't prepare him for the change he was about to see. Suddenly there was no more Redbeard. Just as suddenly the sweet, smiley little boy was gone and a stone-faced doppelgänger took his place. The change was abrupt and devastating, and the truth sank in. "He misses him. Still. Doesn't he?"

Mrs Holmes nodded. "Always has. Sherlock doesn't love often, though when he does John, he does so entirely." with no intention to continue, her point clearly made, Mrs Holmes patted John's hand which was holding the family album open and gave him a small smile. "More tea?"

"Yes please. As you'll have noticed today me and Sherlock, we don't do gifts but you've given me an idea. I'll make sure his Royal Highness finds his way to bed before he cricks his neck sat on that floor and as long as you have no objections, we're going to have a quick brainstorm before retiring ourselves..."

\---

On the 6th of January every year Sherlock Holmes celebrated his birthday. This year he had requested the morning in bed with John Watson, followed by a very naked breakfast. Unfortunately the 'very naked breakfast' was cut short by a vibration resounding through the bedside drawer caused by John's phone. In an instant John was up, slinging lounge pants over his hips and pulling down an old white T-Shirt over his head and jogging down the corridor. What kind of detective would Sherlock be if he was not a curious man? Wrapped in his blue silk house coat he followed in the footsteps of his partner.

Wandering to the front room to notice the absence of the very man he went to find was disappointing but as he reached the windows that looked out onto Baker Street he heard the front door slam in time to watch Mycroft's unmarked vehicle speed away. With narrowed eyes, suspicion grew. John and his brother had been scheming and on his birthday! This was unacceptable. When the hinges creaked on the door Sherlock pivoted on his heel ready to berate John for such actions but found himself slack-jawed and speechless.

There in John's arms sat an Irish Setter puppy with red colouring that was actively taking in his new surrounding whilst it's tail thwack-thwack-thwacked against John's cotton clad chest.

"John.. I.. You?" Sherlock honestly wanted to look at John, John's eyes always gave the game away but right now the little bundle of red had his full attention.

"Happy Birthday, love."

In two long strides Sherlock snatched the puppy from his arms, braced it against his chest with one arm allowing him to used the other to pull John by the back of his neck so he could kiss him swiftly yet surprisingly thoroughly whilst fighting back the hurricane of emotion stirring inside of his stomach.

In that moment, John knew. He knew he'd finally succeeded. He had found the perfect gift after years of searching. It was as though balance in the universe was finally resolved.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi Guys, I had to take time away from writing for my studies but spent some time in hospital after - so now I'm back in full swing (hopefully) and thought I'd warm up with a little Christmassy number. I posted it on my Wattpad yesterday and the responses weren't too bad so I thought I'd put it up here too.
> 
> Please let me know what you think x


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